


just like the ones i used to know

by confectionerybrick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confectionerybrick/pseuds/confectionerybrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to make Cas' first Christmas as a human more familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like the ones i used to know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carl_barker (aww_yeah)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aww_yeah/gifts).



> Dedicated to Emma because she's always pestering me to write stuff and I know she just loves this kind of fluffy, romantic nonsense.

“Do angels do anything at Christmas, Cas?”

It was Christmas eve, and the small sitting room at the back of the bunker was sleepy and flooded with warmth. The only light was from the fire, licking dancing light over the walls and the worn, green carpet. Dean was lazing on the leather chaise longue, nursing a glass of Black Label, and Cas was draped over him like a comforter. Cas didn't look up at the question, but his gaze on the heavily decorated tree in the corner unfocused and he stopped drawing patterns on Dean's shirt with his finger. He felt a weight settle in his stomach.

“Gabriel always liked to claim Christmas as his day.”

Dean sat up a little against the arm rest, allowing Cas to turn and look at him. “How come?”

“I know you are not an ecclesiastical scholar -”

“Is that fancy talk for bible basher?”

“- but I expect you are familiar with the story of Christ's conception. The texts describe how Gabriel came down to earth and told Mary she would be expecting a child.”

“Yeah. I always weasled out of those god awful nativity plays we did at school – whenever we happened to be enrolled in one during winter. I usually snook in the back to see Sammy, though. He finally got to play Joseph when he was eleven, and he wouldn't shut up about it for weeks.”

Dean gave a low chuckle, and the warm light kissed his wide smile. Cas nestled back under his chin, and Dean's fingers found their way into his hair.

“My brother and his ego liked to claim that Christmas was all his construction, even though he was only the messenger of God's plans for Mary.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean grinned into Cas' hair.

“Since he's gone... the past few years never seemed quite right without Gabriel chiming in over our... angel radio, as you like to call it.”

Dean pressed a soft kiss to Cas' head. They were both quiet for a while.

“So, you recognise Christmas, like Christian humans do?”

“Well... we were always amused by changing human traditions celebrating the birth of Christ, but ours always stayed... simple. Of course, Jesus was actually born in the summer, so that is when we recognise it, but humans moved their celebrations to coincide with the winter solstice.”

“What do you do to celebrate?”

Cas sighed – something he found himself doing more often as humanity took a hold on him. “It's been hard to celebrate as we used to since God disappeared and all these wars over the apocalypse and the ruling of heaven started. Since I took my vessel, I haven't really partaken, and I don't think many others will have, either. We don't give each other gifts or anything so materialistic, but the human tradition of carol singing would be the closest thing to how we -”

“Woah, woah. You sing?”

“And... dance.”

Cas tilted his head to see Dean blinking at him, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. He knew exactly what must be going through Dean's mind – he was trying to imagine Cas in his vessel, moving his limbs haphazardly to music like he often caught Dean doing when he thought nobody was watching.

“I – if you're a, uh, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, how can you dance?”

The weight in Cas' stomach pulled at him; irritated, he sat up, suddenly cold where he had been pressed against Dean for the past hour. “It is vastly different from human forms of physical dance. I wouldn't expect your human brain to conceive such a notion, but it is possible.”

Dean's hand was at his neck, calloused fingers trying to soothe him, as they always were. “Hey, baby. I'm sorry, I didn't mean -”

“I know.”

There were moments where Cas' humanity became too much for him. For the most part, he was adjusting – moving into the bunker and falling into Dean's arms rather than onto the streets had certainly eased the transition. But every so often, a memory or a comment would bring back the thick smell of burning feathers and the prospect of permanent mortality.

“Hey.”

Dean stood up and walked over to the record player in the corner and the shelf filled with vinyls above it. Cas watched him flick through at speed, until he pulled a sleeve out and put the record on the turn table. As he put the needle down, the record crackled for a few seconds and a soft, soulful tune began to play. Dean strode back over, and with a slight blush on his cheekbones, offered his hand.

Cas frowned. “I don't understand.”

Dean lurched forward and pulled Cas to his feet; he stumbled and Dean caught him, laughing. He took Cas' right hand with his left, then placed his other on his own shoulder before pulling the ex-angel into his hips. His heart jostled its rhythm for a few beats, hands clutching nervously at this new experience.

“ _I'm, I'm dreaming, dreaming, of a white Christmas..._ ”

The lyrics began to croon over the gentle pops of the fire, and Dean started to sway side to side. Cas leant with him, into his body, and after a few more beats Dean stepped forward a little and turned, guiding Cas round.

It was pleasant, he noted, as the discomfort in his gut started to subside. He felt himself smile a little, which elicited one of Dean's breath-stealing grins.

“What is this?”

“This? This,” - Dean jerked his head towards the record-player - “is Otis Redding. One of the greatest soul singers to ever live, and this is the greatest version of White Christmas you will ever hear.”

Cas was quiet for a few more lines as they swayed. His heart slowed back to normal, almost in sync with the soft drums. “He's... I feel as though he's speaking right to me. He has a very soothing voice. The horns are also very... festive.”

As they turned in their own little world, Dean's freckles dipped in and out of illumination, his eyes gleaming as they flicked around Cas' face.

“You ever dance in your vessel before?”

“No,” he whispered in reply. “But... I like it. I like this. It feels... like I'm connected to something other than myself.”

“The beat?”

Cas gave a light chuckle. “Perhaps, the beat. Perhaps it's... Christmas spirit, as you might call it. But almost definitely you.”

Dean ducked his head, grinning. “We should make this a Christmas tradition. So we can celebrate... how you're used to doing it. Or as close as we can manage, anyway.”

“I'd like that. Thank you, Dean.”

The song rounded down to it's end after the last chorus, but the two men continued swaying in the firelight, no longer really listening to the music. Dean leaned in and kissed Cas, and he tasted like whiskey and a trace of cinnamon.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! Please all go listen to the song mentioned in this ficlet, it is (in my opinion as well as Dean's) the most heart-warming version and it's just beautiful.


End file.
